


Fractured

by RumbleFish14



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drug Use, EMT Ian Gallagher, Emotional Hurt, Grief, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss, Lost Mickey, M/M, Medicated Ian Gallagher, Overdosing, Past Relationship(s), Regret, Sad, Sad Ending, Sorrow, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-26 14:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20743559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbleFish14/pseuds/RumbleFish14
Summary: It's been 5 years since Mickey went to prison and Ian hasn't replied to any calls or letters and chose to move on with his life. He's medicated, is an EMT, while Mickey rots in prison....until Ian gets a call about a possible Overdose victim and sees how his choices affect others...





	1. The Comeback

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Magyar available: [Összetört](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26288731) by [make_it_happen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_it_happen/pseuds/make_it_happen)

> Okay, don't shoot the writer, i do not control my brain. This popped up and I wrote it. It's emotional and sad, with a not so good ending. 
> 
> But it had to happen, and not all story's have to have happy endings to be good. So please blame my whacked out brain for this one...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gets a call that changes the last 5 years of his life

Fractured  
(Chapter 1- The Comeback)

Everyday life without the one you love is pure torture. There were a number of reasons why they might not be around any more; death, heartbreak, infidelity, long distance, or in Ian's case; Prison. 

Mickey was in prison. Had been for nearing 5 years and he missed him with every single minute that passed. After Sammy called the cops on him, after all that crazy bipolar shit, they'd broken up. Actually no, Ian left him. Left him on the porch that day, left him after one visit in prison, he just left him. Left him there to rot while he slowly lost control of his mind. 

That was an excuse. One he told himself to make it all seem easier. 

After that first and only visit, Ian hadn't gone back. He hadn't answered the calls and changed his number when they never stopped, he didn't answer the letters and returned to sender. Ian moved on with his life, without Mickey. 

"Night Sue," Ian smiled at his friend and partner as they stepped from the ambulance. 

Ian Gallagher; EMT. He went official, stayed clean and took his meds. He was good, life was good. Empty and safe, lonely, but good. 

"Night kid, try and get some of that beauty sleep." Sue replied with a wink. 

They had been on for close to 13 hours. With too many calls that even he couldn't remember all the names and faces. He was bone tired, in need of hot food and a weeks worth of sleep, maybe a little love. But that love part wasn't going to happen. 

Ian and Sue stood on opposite sides of the small locker room, each doing their own little things to unwind from a hectic night. Sue sat down, digging into the lunch they never got to eat and called her husband. Ian tried not to listen as he looked at the old, faded picture of Mickey and Mandy he had taped to the inside of his locker. 

Yeah, he cut Mandy out too. 

Everyone was safer for it. They didn't have to endure his spiral into a mental breakdown, he could focus on his own needs, his own life without constantly having people to worry about. 

Mandy left Chicago years ago. Ian remembered crying when he got the voicemail, hearing her sob over the phone about all their mistakes, all the happiness the three of them had together. Saying how much she missed him, how much she hated him; even when she ended it with 'I love you.' 

The good news? He was stable. His disease was under control. He accepted it after two years of denial and too many bad choices. He had a good job, a decent apartment, healthcare. It was good. 

The bad news? He was empty inside, void of all feelings, even sadness. He hadn't been happy since...Mickey. Since that toxic, insane, dangerous, incredible relationship. He couldn't even get mad, or jealous, no excitement. Just nothingness. 

But he was fine. He was alive, even had the scars on his wrists to prove it. 

"Headed home?"

Ian shrugged off his jacket, nodding. "Yeah, need some sleep before the next rotation."

"Yeah, me too. See my husband for once, maybe my kids." Sue joked, trying to make Ian smile, even when it hadn't worked yet. 

Ian just nodded his head in understanding and stood up, jacket and unused lunchbox in hand. "Guess I'll see you next shift."

And of course, as luck was not on his side, probably from all that bad built up Karma, their radios cracked a little, letting them know they weren't free to go home yet. They had a last minute call.

"RA41, possible OD, 734 West Garfield Boulevard, please respond."

Ian glanced at Sue, she had a mouthful of sandwich but nodded and stood. Ian stepped into the back of the ambulance and grabbed for the radio. "RA41, responding to possible OD, 734 West Garfield Boulevard, 10-4."

"Roger RA41, units will be dispatched upon arrival."

Ian groaned tiredly as he moved to grab his jacket, then his oversized red bag and made sure to stock up before he tossed it inside the back. Sue was done eating by that point. She grabbed her jacket, snatched the keys off the hook and climbed in the front.

"We always get that last call." Sue started the car and waited for Ian to join her up front.

"That's because we are fast and efficient." Ian managed somewhat of a proud smile and buckled his seatbelt just as she took off. He flipped the sirens on and watched out the windows as the busy nightlife passed him by. 

They passed everything on the way. Restaurants, bars with drunks falling out the door, gas stations, meth head infested motels, and clubs. Ian managed to see two people on the side of one of those clubs, grinding, moving together. Chasing whatever high they could get off what they took. They were living in the moment, enjoying something as simple as random sex. 

Ian didn't miss randoms. He didn't miss the club life or the drugs and old guys who bought him room service. He didn't miss men staring at him as he danced, he didn't miss giving blow jobs for ten bucks a piece.

Ian missed Mickey. 

"You good with this?" Sue asked as she parked the blaring ambulance nearly on the sidewalk. 

Ian blinked passed the painful memories of what was and what would never be again and realize they arrived at their destination. He glanced up, recognizing a crack house when he saw one. A run down house with missing windows and graffiti on the sides. The roof was caving in and the deck looked one wrong move away from giving out. How anyone could stay inside long enough to OD was kind of impressive.

"Yeah, ready." Ian got out, quickly moving around to the back and grabbed his bag and followed Sue carefully up the steps.

They moved as fast as possible, into a broken down, condemned house just to save someone who was trying to kill themselves. Not suicide like you would think, no cutting the wrists or biting a bullet, but the slow kind of suicide. Pumping your body full of poison just to forget your demons, if only for a minute. 

Ian understood that better than anyone because he had been one of them. Using sex and drugs, alcohol even, just to forget. Just so he didn't have to feel anything or deal with reality for that short while. No Mickey or Yev, no Lip and Fiona, Carl, Debbie or Liam. He could forget all of them, including Monica, the one who made his life harder. 

It only helped for a time, until it all came rushing back, making you feel it twice as hard. And each time down that rabbit hole, the effects didn't last as long as the last time. So you took more, and more, all without realizing what could happen. That's what caused an OD. 

"Hello!!" Ian shouted once inside, hoping whoever it was could speak long enough to help locate him. "Can you hear me?"

It felt as if he spoke too loudly, the walls or the roof might cave in and trap them all inside. 

Ian dug into his pocket for a flashlight, noticing when Sue did the same and began looking for their victim. When the hallway split, he nodded at her, she nodded back and they each took a different direction. 

"We are here to help you," Ian tried again, hearing his voice echo back to him. "Just give us a sign if you can."

He silenced his breathing for a moment, trying to hear passed it and his erratic, adrenaline filled heart beat. At first he didn't hear anything, thinking maybe they'd been too late and the person in need of help, was gone. 

But then he heard it, a faint sound, almost like someone kicking against the wall or the ground. A light thumping sound. It thumped maybe twice before it stopped and Ian strained to listen. 

"Come on, I can hear you." Ian's voice shook a little, not in fear but eagerness to help that person. "One more time for me."

One more time was all it took. The sound was louder, almost like something fell and when Ian looked up, he could see dust falling. Whoever it was, was on the top floor. 

"Sue!" Ian yelled, scrambling to find the stairs. "Top floor, be careful." 

The stairs were in bad shape, missing steps while others were rotted through. Ian had to spread his legs wide a few times as he stepped over large gaps, praying the rail didn't give. Then they would need someone to help him. 

"I'm coming." Ian groaned, clearing the last gap before the main floor.

"Ian, I'm coming sweetie. Be careful." Sue called up, scaling the steps a little slower than Ian but doing it all the same. "See anyone?"

Ian coughed at the dust that clouded around his face. The upper floor was in worse shape than the bottom because half the roof was caved in, leaving a gaping hole for rainwater to pour through, weakening the foundation. But he looked, squinting his eyes, looking for any signs of whoever was there.

The blood was rushing under his skin, feeling that itch. They were running out of time. OD's were serious. If the brain didn't have oxygen for a long period of time, whoever it was may still live but with permanent brain damage. They needed to find them. 

Ian moved forward quickly, glancing as he went, searching high and low and then he saw it. Dirty boots sticking out from one of the corners of the room. Whoever it was, must have been living here. That part of the floor was cleaner, almost liveable. No trash or broken furniture, but a place to sleep with semi clean blankets, a pillow, some clothes folded in a corner. The other corner were tubs of empty whiskey bottles. 

Ian moved to him right away, moving the blankets out of the way as he knelt and set his bag down. Behind him, he could hear Sue's boots quickly moving across the floor. The guy was laying face down, dressed in a heavy dusty jacket, dark hair fanned around his head, rather soft looking for someone living in these conditions. 

"Hey man, we're here to help." Ian mumbled and moved closer. Sue helped turn him over and Ian inhaled sharply. 

"What?" Sue asked, worried. 

But Ian couldn't even answer her. He couldn't move or blink or breathe. It was him. His hair was longer, nearly to his shoulders, his face was scruffy, smudged and dirty. He was much skinnier, as if he hadn't eaten for weeks, eyes sunken in, dark and lifeless. But it was him. 

It was Mickey.

"Ian!" Sue shoved him, pushing the bag closer. "He won't make it if you stare at him."

Ian nodded, moving on autopilot to check his pulse. He didn't find one. Sue must have noticed because she handed him a respirator and mouth piece. He took it, safely put it to Mickey's mouth then moved a little for Sue to take control while he worked on compressions. 

This couldn't be right, this couldn't be Mickey. Not his Mickey. Not even as he started compressions, staring into Mickey's face. He pumped three times before She squeezed, pumping air into his lungs. 

Mickey didn't do shit like this. He didn't do hardcore drugs, he didn't live anywhere but the Milkovich home. He was supposed to be in prison, serving the next three years of his 8 year sentence. Not here, not dying.

Ian blinked back the tears, pumping harder. "Come on Mick, don't do this." He begged, pausing for Sue to do her part.

"You know him?" She asked quietly.

"I knew him." Ian mumbled quickly. He was ready for more when Mickey's body jerked, heaving for air. Ian's heart stopped in that moment. Truly broken. "Turn, turn!" He helped Mickey turn just in time for him to vomit all over the floor, expelling what he could. 

"Here!" Sue pushed a syringe at him. 

Ian lightly slapped Mickey's face, trying to get him to open his eyes and focus. "Wake up Mick!" He sobbed, feeling the tears drip down his face. "Just wake up."

"Move!" Sue pushed Ian out of the way, quickly cleaning the crook of his arm, trying not to contaminate anything further as she gave him a shot of Naloxone.

Ian finally noticed the shot. His eyes darted around the room, looking for the source of the OD. He expected needles or lines of coke, burnt spoons for heroin. Anything. But all he found was an empty pill bottle. He snatched it off the ground, taking note that it did not belong to Mickey, and the prescription had been filled this morning. 

Sometime within the last 12 hours, Mickey ingested 30 pills. 

"That will help until we get him back." Sue took a deep breath, checking his pulse again to find it steadily racing under her fingers. "We need to get him back."

Ian nodded. He sat on the floor by Mickey's head, trying not to lose it. "You seem quicker on the stairs. You wanna get the stretcher?"

Sue gave a soft smile. "Yeah, I'll get it and I think I heard those cops finally pull up. It's gonna take all of us to get him out."

She was on her feet before he could reply, moving as quickly as possible. Ian scooted over, sitting off to the side and lifted Mickey's head off the ground to rest in his lap. Mickey only groaned a little, but he was breathing. 

"Mick," Ian spoke softly, smoothing his hair back from his eyes. "What happened baby?"

Mickey didn't respond much. Only tilting his head a little. Ian just held him and let the tears fall, a few landed on Mickey's face and he brushed them away, some of the dirt too. 

"I'm sorry." Ian leaned down, kissing his hairline as his eyes squeezed closed. "This is all my fault." 

This was his fault. This was the fallout from his selfish choices. Leaving Mickey after all they'd been through together. After Mickey stayed with him, was there for him when he rejected his diagnosis, when he cheated on him. When he broke his heart. 

"Mickey, I'm so sorry." Ian cried, softly stroking his face, running his fingers into his long hair. "Just stay with me baby. You're gonna be okay."

"Coming up Ian!"

That made Mickey move a little. Ian moved up, blinking passed tears to see Mickey trying to open his eyes. Mickey looked rough, but seeing those stormy blue eyes open was the best thing in the entire world in that moment. 

"Mickey?" Ian moved his hand down Mickey's chest, linking their fingers. "Can you hear me?"

"Gallagher?" Mickey croaked, squirming away. 

Ian smiled. "Yeah, it's me baby. I'm here. You're gonna be okay."

The smile he expected didn't happen. Mickey didn't seem relieved to see him, or happy. He seemed confused, irritated. Ian's arms were being pushed away as he tried to move, moving away from him.

"Mick, you need to stay still." Ian instructed with a frown. "Sue, hurry!!"

"Get away." Mickey groaned, voice on fire as he pushed his hands off. "I don't want to see you." 

Ian felt his heart getting squeezed, or stepped on. "I'm trying to help you Mick."

"Don't want help," he mumbled, only managing to roll once before his body gave out. "Not from anyone."

Ian went after him, trying to hold onto him. "You need a hospital Mickey." He swallowed thickly, trying to put a leash on his emotions. Then he eyed the pill bottle and thought maybe Mickey couldn't remember. "You took too many pills Mick, you need…"

"I know how many I took." Mickey barked, taking a shallow breath. 

His eyes widened, filling with tears at the admission. But that couldn't be right. Mickey wouldn't do that. 

"Why Mick?" Ian asked, hearing Sue and the cops coming closer. 

Mickey let his head fall to the side, looking at the reason why he took those pills. "Because I didn't want to be saved."

"He's awake, thank God." Sue smiled and set the stretcher down. She dug into her bag, finding the mini oxygen mask and moved Ian over enough to put it around his face. "Ian we need to move him."

Ian didn't hear her. Or if he did, it sounded like she was a million miles under water. Mickey didn't want to be saved, he came here knowing he was going to take them all. Knowing there would be no one to save him. 

Mickey came here to die.

Ian's breath caught, letting out a sharp sounding gasp. Tears filled his eyes and he allowed Sue to move him over for the cops to help get him on the stretcher. 

They lifted Mickey onto it, strapped him down and made sure to keep the mask in place. They were doing their jobs. He was frozen, broken. Unable to move or speak, unable to think. Only the tears and the sharp pains through his heart let him know he was still breathing. 

"I'm sorry." Ian mumbled as Mickey's eyes moved towards him. "I'm…" he didn't get the chance to finish because Mickey looked away on purpose. 

"Come on honey." Sue smiled, helping Ian stand. "We need to go."

They did need to go. They needed to get Mickey back to the hospital, even when he didn't want it. Ian needed to get out of this house, get away from himself. 

Now he wanted to die. 

"He'll be okay Ian, he will."

Ian shook his head, watching her blurry face through the tears. "No, he won't." He replayed Mickey's words, crumbling under the weight of them. "Nothing will ever be okay."


	2. No Other Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's POV to the events from part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so i was not going to do more but realized we may need Mickey's side for this sad tale...

Fractured-  
Part 2/2: No Other Choice   
(*The other side*)

"I'll wait for you." 

Four words kept him alive for months after Ian's first and only visit. It kept him hopeful, but in prison there was no use for hope of any kind. Salvation would never come, or redemption. Hope and dreams were crushed under tattooed fists and homemade shivs. 

Mickey was hopeless.

Ian had promised to wait for him. They both knew it was a lie, Mickey said as much. A pretty lie to make that visit bearable. But a lie nonetheless. Ian would not wait, Ian would not visit or set foot in that prison again. He wouldn't answer his calls, or his letters. 

Ian had abandoned him when he needed him the most. 

Throughout their years together, Ian had always been the light. The sunshine, the happiness, the hope. Ian was beautiful in ways that baffled Mickey. Maybe it was the purity of his soul, or the fact that he had been through so much, or maybe Ian only appeared that way to him. Either way, he was the light to Mickey's darkness.

Without him he was cold and alone, void of all hope to ever find that kind of love or companionship again. Without Ian, his world didn't seem worth the fight. And he did fight, he fought for Ian, with him and against him. And yet it hadn't mattered. 

For two years, Mickey kept that hope alive. He called and wrote, even though the calls went unanswered and his letters always came back. He'd tell Ian about prison life, reminisce about the past, of better, happier times together. Mickey spoke of a future with Ian, a family with Yev. 

That was his hope.

By the third year, he wanted to die. Mickey was depressed, suicidal, unapproachable. He fought to get himself locked into solitary so he could cry, so he could mourn that beautiful, toxic love they'd created out of fear and hate. 

Mickey cried so much that year, that he hadn't been able to shed a single tear since then. Not when Svetlana took Yev away to her new life with her new husband, her new house. Not when Mandy left him, choosing to live a better life. Mickey didn't cry when no one came on his birthday, or Christmas.

No contact with anyone he loved, or used to love was a dangerous thing. It messed with the mind, spouting lies and poison, making him doubt his existence. 

By the fourth year he was an addict. It didn't matter what the drug was, Mickey would use it. But he didn't use it just to forget his demons, but rather as a slow death, that slow suicide people always talked about. One that you willingly accept and put yourself through. But it was not free. With no family, came no money, no money to buy drugs left him in a difficult position. 

That position was usually on his knees, in one form or another. Selling the last remaining pieces of his soul to get those drugs, to find peace. To find Ian. To find Yev and Mandy and happiness. It didn't last, it wasn't real, but it felt real. He needed it to be real or he wouldn't make it. 

He wanted to die.

"I'll wait for you."

Those damn words haunted his every thought, his every waking minute, every dream. He couldn't escape them, just like he couldn't escape the prison. Not the walls and the bars, but the prison inside his mind, the bars locked tightly around his heart. 

He was impenetrable. He was cold and emotionless. No fears, no happiness, no sadness. Just nothing. Endless amounts of nothing in that bottomless pit that his caged heart lie at the bottom of. 

"Count your blessings Milkovich," the guard shook his head, waiting for the door to unlock. "Your sentence got cut in half."

Mickey didn't care enough to reply. Eight years might have seemed long three years ago, but not anymore. Prison was his home, the inmates...some were friends, most enemies, others regulars, his dealer… his empire. 

Without a word, Mickey simply turned around, hands behind his back and waited. The cuffs came out, familiar and cold around his wrists. Making him feel safe instead of trapped or vulnerable. He was marched out of his cell block, already feeling that itch, that withdrawal from the easy amount of drugs he had access too and a simple, constant way to pay for it. 

Maybe this was a blessing after all. It would be easy to kill himself without someone constantly watching him…a fleeting thought as he passed each cell. 

There was nothing the outside world had to offer him anymore. No family, no home, no friends. His son was gone, Ian was gone. The world, his world was taken from him and everyone around him let him take the fall, take the blame and moved on without him. 

…..

The day he got out had been nothing but a blur. From the moment that cell door opened, Mickey was on autopilot. Going through the motions he had to, then he was being dumped back at his house.

The condemned sign should have made him happy. To see all that Terry 'worked' for reduced to nothing. At one point, that was all he wanted. To see Terry fall, to see his poor excuse of an Empire crumble on top of him. But now, it was just a house, just a shell of what it had been. 

Just like him.

A week had passed before he knew it. Nowhere to go, no home; left him on the streets. Moving from place to place, stealing what he needed to get by. Not food or clothing or money for a room, but alcohol. And by the end of that bottle, he was able to sleep, to rest for a time. To dream of what could have been, of what could never be now. 

Ian, him, Yev. Us. There was supposed to be an us. 

Some of those feelings started to come back. In the dead of night, holed up in some broken down building surrounded by others like him, he was able to feel. But he felt only pain, betrayal, loneliness, rejection, abandonment. That's when the alcohol hadn't been enough anymore. 

So he lost himself in others, let others lose themselves in him. Mickey could have lied and said it was for the money, or the drugs, but it wasn't. He needed to feel something good again. The touch of a stranger, sometimes rough, other times soft.

He pictured Ian in those moments. Pretending it was his hands on his hips, pretending those harsh, demeaning words were those of love. But then they left after, or Ian left. It made that black hole inside him spiral into hell. Being rejected over and over each time that new Ian was done with him, every time a wad of crumpled cash was tossed at him, or pills, he sank deeper into despair with no way out.

Two weeks after, Mickey found out that he'd been wrong. There was a way out of this hell, a way into paradise where everything he wanted was waiting for him. All he had to do was let go, to fully give up and it would be there, welcoming him with open arms. 

Ian's arms, the only place that ever made him feel safe, the only person that ever loved him for who and what he was. Unconditional love. His red hair, shining like a beacon even in the darkest of places, green eyes that saw right into your soul, saw you for what you could become. And that smile, the one that melted his icy heart from that first moment and every moment since. 

How to get there had been trickier than he thought it would be. Mickey had tried it all, every way he could think to end his life, and every time he failed.

Starving himself to death was out, even when he hadn't wanted food in over two weeks. It just took too long. He tried to hang himself, hoping for that moment of ecstasy before it was over, but the rail had broken off that rusty old house, giving him a rope-like scar across his throat. Mickey tried getting into fights so bad that it killed him. The pain was worth it, but the cops broke it up every time. 

There was a surefire way to end it; drugs. 

It took him a nasty round of fucking to get the amount he needed to make it permanent, but it was worth it. Now he had what he needed, he just needed a place to go where no one would find him. Where it wasn't possible for cops to come or rails to break, where no one would stumble across him and find him, or save him. 

Mickey stared up at the building in front of him. Out of all those he stayed in since he was let out a month ago, this was the worst. In the middle of nowhere, smack dab in the middle of a shittier part of Chicago where shit like that was an everyday occurrence.

There was no door. Mickey simple walked inside, unbothered by the look or the smells. The smell of wood rot, decay. It smelled of death and it seemed fitting considering that's why he was here. 

"Home sweet hell." Mickey mumbled with a sadistic sounding laugh. It echoed, giving him the illusion of others living there. 

The bottom half of the house was useless. The second story was caving in above him, the floor so rotted, one of his feet went through the boards. The second story was better, aside from the stairs with gaping holes he had to jump over to get across. And the roof, split down the middle leaving one side useless. 

The other wide was perfect, harder to get to, not about to rot underneath him. Mickey was careless as he walked towards it, noticing someone already occupied this space, or did. There were a mass of blankets that might resemble a bed if it wasn't so pathetic, dirty folded clothes in the corner along with a mass amount of whiskey bottles. It was odd for those to already be there, almost like it was giving him a glimpse into his life if he chose not to end it. 

Mickey sat on top of those blankets, legs crossed, both hands on the full pill bottle. He wasn't sure what it was by name, only that it was effective and worth the price he paid for it. 30 pills, all about to be consumed like the world consumed the rest of him. 

"Guess this is it." Mickey mumbled to himself, almost like a goodbye. 

His hands never shook as he popped the top and let a handful of little pills fall into the palm of his hand. Mickey glanced around, happy to see amber liquid in the bottle closest to him. He grabbed it, tossed the handful of pills into his mouth and took a big drink. 

There was no hesitation, no second chances. This was it. The end. And Mickey was happy for it, grateful even. He was about to be snatched from this miserable excuse for a life and tossed somewhere else, somewhere better. Even hell was better than the nightmare of these past 5 years.

While that handful of pills settled, he poured the last handful, going through the same motions until the bottle fell empty at his feet. Then he laid back, eyes up, managing a clear view of the sky from where the roof was caved in a few feet over. 

The sky was beautiful. So dark, black almost. Scary and unknown, but those little stars is what made that darkness beautiful, mesmerizing. Mickey felt like the sky, only the star in his life was long gone. 

"Fuck you Gallagher." Mickey called up to the sky, thinking that maybe it might float up, soar into the wind and reach Ian's ears before those pills took effect. 

Not to save him because he was beyond saving. But to make Ian realize that this was his fault, all of it. Mickey wanted him to hurt one more, to feel the pain he had to live with. Not even the strongest man could take it and Mickey was far from strong. 

Love is a Battlefield pushed its way into the front of his mind, making him hum the beat softly. Mickey wasn't even aware that his left hand slid up his shirt, landing above his heart where that mass of scars settled over Ian's name. 

His first time in solitary, the thoughts had been too much. Ian was in his dreams, he was there when his eyes were opened. Talking and touching and saying those hateful things. There was no escaping that voice. 

Mickey managed to break a piece of metal off his bed and dug it into the skin above his heart. Not trying to dig it out, but carving Ian's name from his body. It worked, for the most part. The name was gone, it looked like someone took a cheese grater to his skin. 

Mickey didn't feel that pain, not a single second of it. But the voice had stopped, Ian had left him and he had never felt so relieved. 

Now Mickey traced each scar, almost feeling the misspelled name under it. His heart was racing, pulsing out of control and to the outside eye, he was relaxed. 

The pills were working. That edge of death was closer with every second that passed. With every blink, a good memory of Ian surfaced, only to be replaced by a bad memory on that next blink. Reminding him why he was doing this. 

You had to have a purpose in life for it to be enjoyable. Mickey didn't have a purpose anymore. Not as a brother, or as a boyfriend, not as a father. 

They were all the better for it. They would benefit from his death, even if they never found his body. When they never saw him again, they would forget. Each year more memories would die and fade away until there was nothing left of him. Not even to the ones who were supposed to love him the most. 

"I love you Yevy," Mickey whispered to the first blurry star he saw. Blurry not from crying, but from that slow loss of consciousness. 

Mickey blinked slowly, looking to another star. "I love you Mandy." He whispered again, his voice softer with every word. 

There was not a star big enough for Ian, but there was the moon. It was mystical and beautiful, a gift to the world, just like Ian. "Fuck you Gallagher." Anyone who knew him could tell you what that meant and if you don't know, you should.

Mickey felt his heart slow, that fast pace long gone as he kept staring at the moon. Or tried to. His vision blurred even more, blinking seemed to take longer for him to reopen his eyes until he no longer could. 

****

Ian was there, just as Mickey knew he would be. The hard part was over, life, death. Now he was at peace, Ian was standing there with that nerdy smile he fell in love with, eyes shining just for him. Even his voice sounded like an angel. 

Maybe this was his heaven. 

"Wake up Mick!!"

The words didn't come from this Ian, for his mouth didn't move and that smile didn't falter. The voice seemed to be coming from above, from the clouds…

And just as quickly as his heaven arrived, it vanished at those words. Ian was gone, the smile too. Leaving him alone, surrounded by nothing but darkness. 

"Come back." Mickey cried, tears slowly streaming down his cheeks. "Please come back."

The only response was painful sensation working it's way across his body. It was nothing he could hold on to, nothing he could see. It was in him, pulsing through his blood. He screamed so loud the darkness around him shook, each shade of black crumbling to the ground, shattering at his feet. 

"Just stay with me baby, you're gonna be okay."

Ian was speaking as he fell, as the ground beneath him gave way. He fell for ages, for miles. Or maybe a split second until he could look down and see his body lying on that dirty pile of blankets, his head in Ian's lap. 

"Mickey? Can you hear me?"

Ian's eyes were glossy and wide as he opened his own. Mickey felt Ian's hand in his own, their fingers linked and he hated the feeling. "Gallagher?" He croaked, trying hard to move but his body refused. 

Ian spoke again, but he didn't want to hear it. "Get away." He pushed at him. "I don't want to see you."

How was Ian here? Why was Ian here? Mickey was sure no one saw him come here, yet here he was. Saving him. Playing the damn hero. That bastard. 

"I'm trying to help Mick."

"Don't want help." He groaned as he rolled, feeling like he was moving through mud. It was too much and he stopped. "Not from anyone."

"You need a hospital Mickey. You took too many pills, you need…"

Did Ian really assume he just OD on accident? Was he really that stupid now or did he refuse to see the truth even when it was right in his face?

Why did the universe hate him? It saved him, again. Why? He wasn't worth it. He wanted to die. Why couldn't they just let him find some peace?"

"I know how many I took." He barked at Ian, silencing anything else he wanted to say. It took a moment, but Ian finally got it. He realized what this was about and his eyes widened, tearfilled. 

"Why Mick?" 

Footsteps took the place of the sound of his heart beat. He glanced around, seeing uniforms coming at him. That was the rest of the hero committee. They would help him, take him to the hospital, and he was too weak to move or do much more than glare at them. 

At least they would take him far away from Ian. 

As they knelt beside him, he glanced at Ian, about to give him a reality check that was needed many, many years ago. "Because I didn't want to be saved."

There was nothing else that needed to be said. Ian's face crumbled and Mickey turned away as a mask was put over his face, then he was being lifted onto the stretcher. 

"I'm sorry," Ian whispered.

Mickey saw how freaked out he was. How destroyed. Just like he was. 

"I'm…"

When Ian went to say it again, Mickey glanced away. He just looked up at the sky, wanting to take the words he spoke to the stars and the moon back, now that he wasn't dead. 

This was hell. Showing him all he wanted, that angelic version of Ian, then taking it away again. Pure torture. Peeling his skin away piece by piece would have been more merciful than that shit. 

If he could move he would have. Mickey would refuse all medical care, leave and find another way to end this shit. Maybe he would have to be more blunt about it. A gun maybe, step in front of the L or a bus. Something that would make it impossible for someone to save him.

They loaded him into the ambulance, saving the damn day when in all reality, they just made his life more complicated. He was never getting away from Ian, never. And that was the real torture.


End file.
